


The Moonlight Hits Hard

by megyal



Category: Bandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-09
Updated: 2006-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title borrowed from <span><a href="http://loveliesfamous.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://loveliesfamous.livejournal.com/"><b>loveliesfamous</b></a></span>' fic <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/patrickxpeter/553389.html">My heart is shaped like you this week</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Moonlight Hits Hard

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from [](http://loveliesfamous.livejournal.com/profile)[**loveliesfamous**](http://loveliesfamous.livejournal.com/) ' fic [My heart is shaped like you this week](http://community.livejournal.com/patrickxpeter/553389.html).

Travie thinks that he's losing Beckett to Gabe and finds solace in Patrick.

If he was to write the whole thing down, that would be the very first line. Travis likes directness, it’s all over his lyrics, which are sharp and clean and lean like he is, and if that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is.

And besides. Patrick is so tiny and snarly-sweet. Who wouldn't find solace in him?

*

Gabe has a sort of sexiness that is unconscious. William thinks that if Gabe was in a coma, he would leak hotness through the intravenous tube, and smile cockily in his sleep. Gabe is fun. He smiles way too much, and he laughs like there was no end to it all, and William wishes he could see Gabe smile in the moonlight, so he could write something nonsensical about it all. He catches Travis trying not to look at them, sitting crushed together in a sly green sofa in this strange studio; they're all there for moral support, and Will might voice some back-up on the new album, maybe Gabe too, possibly Travis, because Pete likes to cover a lot of bases. They all get by with a little help from their friends.

William is looking at how white Gabe's teeth are, and how his clothes seem to snake unto him, and he's a sexy beast. William's been maybe watching a little too much BBC America, because he's been thinking that phrase a lot ( _sexybeastsexybeast_ ), and he feels like putting it into some lexicon and pasting Gabe's smirk into it.

Sexy beast.

*

Travis doesn't quite know how he ends up in Patrick's room and under the sheets, still fully dressed. Fuck, fine, he _does_ know; he really couldn't stand to be an extra in the Gabe and William show for much longer, and when they got back to Pete's apartment, which is California chic trying to be bashful about it all (and actually succeeding), he simply loped straight to the room Patrick claimed was his, yanked up the smooth sheets, toed off his shoes and folded himself in. The pillow he grabs onto aggressively smells a little like roses, and he laughs bitterly into the faint scent.

Patrick, who sits on top of the sheets with his laptop, simply gives him a solid-blue look and says, "Don't drool on my pillow, dammit," to which Travis replies, "Fuck off, Tiny Man," and pretends to fall asleep.

It is during this act he discovers that Patrick has roaming hands. At least, one hand roams. While the right one clicks away at the mouse he has perched on a book right next to him, the left hand strays now and again into Travis' hair, wiry strands that Patrick absentmindedly twists around his pointer finger, making isolated curls of it. Travis peeks up at him, feeling comfortable. He doesn't mind the small pull on his scalp when Patrick frees his finger to type something rapidly, because the hand returns and starts in on the curling again. He actually makes a small purr of pleasure and Patrick looks down at him, seemingly surprised to find a tall person tucked up onto his thigh.

"Sorry," Patrick laughs, and pats Travis' head. "Really, sorry."

"Nah. Will used to do that," Travis says without thinking and Patrick actually rolls his eyes a little.

"What? You're making it sound like as if you're divorced or something. I didn't even know he was your boyfriend."

"He's not," Travis says shortly, not moving away, because Patrick is sort of like a favourite pillow, with curves in the right places. "I fucking _hate_ that word. And even if he was, I wouldn't call him that."

"Better half?" Patrick says, trying to be helpful, but his attention is mainly on his music programme now, and Travis knows he could have fallen off the bed and burst into flames and Patrick wouldn't really notice at this point in time.

"No. Not any better...not like you and Pete, or anything."

Patrick is suddenly all focused on him, and its a little disconcerting to Travis, because his eyes seem to take up his face; they're big and grey-blue now, and his mouth falls open a little. Travis is just now noticing Patrick's mouth. It sort of looks good. All plump-like, and ripe.

"Ok, what? Me and Pete? Oh. _Oh_ , you think we're together."

Travis turns so that he's on his side, and feels the impulse to crowd right up to Patrick, maybe even fling a leg over behind the laptop, so he does it, and it feels really nice. Patrick shifts a little, rolling his hips into the bed, and he's chuckling slightly.

"No, man. Pete and I? Well. Okay, _before_ , yeah. But it's different now." Patrick takes a little quick inhale, just like he does in between lines of lyrics and launches into an eerily exact copy of Pete's slightly nasal tones. "'I'm a businessman, Patrick. I have a lot of stuff to do...no time for romance, right?'"

Patrick's low laugh is filled with sharp shards of emotion, too small to cut but enough to grate and Travis presses the inside of his thigh down on Patrick's legs, feeling the heat of the laptop brushing over his knee.

"Who the fuck needs romance?" Travis says, and he feels spiteful enough to let it show.

"That's what I said," Patrick replies, shutting down the cover of the laptop and putting it on the night-table, flicking the power cord with it. "I didn't ask _anybody_ for romance."

He turns and slides down, kissing Travis soundly.

*

Patrick kisses like his mouth was made for it, and now that Travis has a little time to think it through, he can clearly see that it was. He can almost imagine when Patrick was being put together wherever people were made, like in a holy people factory and maybe the guys along the conveyor belt said, "Yeah, this one? He's gonna have a voice-box with the power to knock down buildings, so let's kinda make the packaging look good."

Travis pulls away a little, and takes a deep breath, and Patrick, who is draped over at him, pulls back and looks just a tad unsure, like he did when Travis first met him. To hear Pete talk, Patrick was the quintessential flower-on-the-wall, and one always got the feeling that it was Pete who dragged him out of his shell and into the Brave New World.

"What?" Patrick says, a little forcibly. Travis tries to reconcile the retreating person he first knew, with this being who can curl his tongue in a way that makes Travis' toes pinch together in his socks, and the shuttered expression in the eyes helps out with that a bit. Patrick up takes his staring as some sort of rejection and backs even more, muttering, "You're weirded out."

Travis makes a sound of deep annoyance and grabs onto his arm.

"Fuck, I'm not weirded out. I am, a little, but I was enjoying myself. Little freak."

He sits up and pushes Patrick back to lie down, and Patrick is staring up at him with eyes gone dark, and Travis thinks that they've almost tinted down to the same shade as Will's, and to shove that thought out of his mind, he tilts his head and lick's Patrick's mouth. He's a little excited to find that Patrick responds quickly, mouth parting and inviting Travis in, arching up into Travis' hovering frame.

"Okay," Patrick breathes low against his mouth, and Travis is looking for a word to describe how he sounds. Wanton. He read that somewhere, and he likes that word a lot, and Patrick underneath him ( _sugared smoke_ ) is miles away from Patrick in the studio ( _tense and brittle_ ), or Patrick onstage ( _phoenix-fire_ ), and he's thinking that he likes this Patrick a lot. A _lot_. He slides his knee up between Patrick's thighs, locking them together, and Patrick is nowhere near as tall as Will is, but everything seems to be connecting in the right places at the right time, and this isn't going to take very long. He grinds down, and Patrick's whole body is rocking up into his, and he was so very glad he wasn't weirded out so much, because he is really having a whole lot of fucking fun.

 _Fucking fun_ , he snickers and then gasps against Patrick's neck, which, up this close, is flushed red and slightly damp. He licks against the pulse, bites it, and there's layers of thin sheets and denim between them, but that's no barrier at all, really, so he comes and oh, it is good, because Patrick shudders right after.

Patrick is breathing hard beneath him, and Travis is thinking that he's the polar opposite of Will, in nearly every way but the voice, because instead of mumbling about getting sticky clothes off, Patrick bites him on the eyebrow and laughs.

*

Travis tells Patrick that he is Wracked with Guilt, because isn't he just using Patrick? But Patrick gives him a slightly irritated frown, brown eyebrows furrowed together, and makes a slightly dismissive gesture with his fingers; so Travis knows it's alright to barge into Patrick's room without knocking after he and Will have some sort of snide conversation (not even a proper argument) about Gabe.

"Okay," Patrick says, the word drawn out, when Travis pulls the magazine out of his hands and pushes him down. "This can work."

Travis finds that Patrick likes to be held down. Kinky little bastard.

*

"Is there something going on with you and McCoy?" Will asks Patrick at breakfast one fine day, while Patrick is glaring at a cucumber sandwich that Pete made for him. Patrick is not really the biggest fan of cucumbers and Pete knows this. He fucking _knows_ this, and Patrick takes a sullen bite out of it and decides it could be worse. He gives Will a steady gaze, and Will looks like someone dragged him through a patch of cactus; his hair is flying every which way, and Patrick is not too sure but it looks like he put on his t-shirt wrong side out.

"Why do you ask?" Patrick uses a Pete expression, sort of mocking, with a little too-innocent confusion thrown in; Will, who is looking at him the same way he himself had been looking at the sandwich moments ago, shakes his head, spins on his heel, ballet-graceful, and stalks out. Gabe and Pete are at the stove and they're staring at Patrick: Gabe, as if he's really seeing Patrick for the first time, and Pete as if he is so very _proud_. Pete has mixed-up morals, but that is what Patrick likes about him.

Gabe turns back to the stove, flipping a pancake for Pete, and he says,” So. There's nothing."

Patrick makes a small humming sound around his mouthful of sandwich, neither a yes nor a no, and Pete is literally hugging himself with delight.

*

Patrick is laughing at something Travis is muttering in his ear, and oh god, what a fucking slut, Will thinks. And the worst thing is, you can't even tell by _looking_. He looks like quite a few of everyone's Favourite Things, and Will wonders if he can just strangle him right now.

Patrick meets his eye across the mingling roomful of label-types, and smiles faintly, digging his elbow in the vicinity of Travie's hip, because that little fucker is little, and Travis bends forward a bit, spotting Will and he frowns.

 _What_? He mouths at Will, and Will tries on the Stare of Hate, but it seems to be out of order today, because neither of them drops dead. Patrick pushes at Travis a little, and then turns to talk to someone else that was standing right beside them; Will looks around for Gabe, but he's off in a corner giggling with Pete and Andy, and now Travis is right beside him.

"What?" Travis says, and he appears far too comfortable right now. He looks at-ease, and Will is feeling too upset to appreciate this.

Will bites out, "When were you going to tell me about you and Stump? I thought we were friends, or something."

Travis looks amused and he says, "You're _jealous_. The fuck are you jealous for?"

 _I am not_ , Will tries to gripe, but he's caught up in glaring sharp knives at Travis, dark and tall in front of him, and Travis is shrugging at him idly.

"Now you know how I feel," Travis says and Will stops with the daggers, because, _what_? "We don't have any rights, you know, to be fucking jealous over each other, but I was, with you and Gabe. So."

Will thinks he really should have the decency to finish that sentence, and Travis is stepping back to turn away, but Will manages to catch at a sleeve.

"Fucker, don't walk away from me, I _want_ that right. You happy now?"

Travis' eyes roll to the ceiling in exasperation, and Will wants to punch him right in one. Maybe the left one.

"Beckett, you only want it now, when you think you can't get it anymore. That's messed-up logics."

Will drags him across the room, out of the stuffy smoky air to the cool parking lot, muttering all the while about _I'll show you messed-up logics, you piece of shit_ , and they end up in the limo that Pete rented, the driver sent off to get a drink or something, and Will is telling him in between pressing him against the plush upholstery and _fucking_ his mouth with his tongue that there is no way they're boyfriends, he _hates_ that word, it's stupid. His hair is streaked silver in the light of the full moon, pressing in on them through the open sun-roof (or moon-roof, whatever), and Travis wants to pull his fingers through it and collect the shimmer.

"And I don't want to see you and Stump near each other. I don't give a fuck, just do what I say."

"God," Travis gasps, because Will's hand is snaking down his jeans, and into his boxers. "I won't even _listen_ to you. Stump is my friend. _Our_ friend. I was...okay, I was finding solace." This last is groaned out, and Will doesn't really understand what he's saying.

"What the hell are you saying?" Will murmurs against his neck, hand moving roughly, and he fits so good against Travis, everything slotted neatly, and who cares if he's a jealous bitch who only pitches a fit when the well runs dry, he's perfect. For Travis. Right now.

"Nothing. Use your mouth for something better, please?"

Travis is very glad that Will knows exactly when to be obedient.

*

"I just thought Gabe was cute. That's all," Will is confessing as they stand in the corner, the party too warm after the shocking chill of the parking lot, and Travis is picking carefully through what he wants to tell Will, because Patrick is smirking at him from across the room, his eyes grey and knowing in the light; Pete is flitting around him and the persons they're standing with: Gabe and one of the Miss Murder guys, the one with the funny blonde hair. Travis sticks out his tongue and Patrick's grin goes straight from sly to shit-eating. Will is staring out the window, and misses this completely.

"Patrick was just, you know. There. When I needed him to be, you know?"

Will looks at him like he knows the truth, but he doesn't say anything. Travis is relieved, because they're standing in a pool of moonlight coming through this massive wall of glass, and when it's hitting Will like that, it looks like it might hurt him, and that's something Travis finds that he never wants to happen.


End file.
